by Jenny Nimmo
The news travelled fast. By first break even the children in Bloor’s Academy had heard about the great return. Laughter was heard in the canteens and classrooms; smiles were seen on the faces of children who had said they would never smile again. Charlie was relieved, even though some of his classmates still looked at him with suspicion.
Just when one problem had been solved, Charlie was presented with another. Detention. He was desperate to find out if Maisie had melted, and he also felt he should be at home to watch over his mother.
At lunchtime, Charlie found Billy in the canteen eating one of Cook’s new specialities. Potato hedgehogs.
‘They’re not really hedgehogs,’ Billy said gravely. ‘It’s just that they’ve got these nice crispy tips.’
While Cook was serving Charlie, she said quietly, ‘I hear the animals are back.’
Charlie nodded. ‘The Flames brought them. But I’ve got detention this weekend, so . . .’
‘What?’ Cook lowered her ladle. ‘You can’t have.’ She looked very surprised.
Charlie was about to ask why, when behind him Gabriel said, ‘I’m dying of hunger. Move on, Charlie.’
Charlie took his plate of hedgehogs to Billy’s table. In a few minutes, Fidelio and Gabriel had joined them.
‘D’you know what’s happening this weekend?’ Billy asked the others.
‘I’ve got detention,’ said Charlie.
‘No, I didn’t mean that.’ Billy squared his shoulders and said importantly, ‘It’s the Hundred Heads’ Dinner on Friday, and the Grand Ball on Saturday. I heard Dr Bloor reminding Matron about it. He was cross because she’d given you detention, Charlie, and he didn’t want any children in the building. But Matron said it was against her principles to take back detentions. And Dr Bloor walked off in a huff. He said she’d got to keep you out of the way. I expect he meant me, too, because I’ll be here if you are, won’t I, Charlie?’
Charlie felt quite out of breath when Billy finally came to a halt.
Gabriel said, ‘Billy, I’ve never heard you say so much all in one go.’
Fidelio asked, ‘So what are the Hundred Heads’ Dinner and the Grand Ball?’
‘Well,’ began Billy, ‘I found out a bit more from Manfred.’
‘From Manfred!’ said the others in shocked voices.
‘He likes to feel important, so I thought he’d be very happy to tell me,’ said Billy, ‘and he was. He said every ten years there’s a reunion. Head teachers from a hundred other academies come here to talk about their pupils and things.’
‘What other academies?’ said Charlie.
‘Where all the other endowed children go,’ said Billy.
‘There are others?’ said Charlie in surprise.
‘Of course, there would be,’ Gabriel said thoughtfully. ‘When you think about it, there must be hundreds of children like us, all over the world. I mean the Red King had ten children and if they all had children, nine hundred years ago . . .’
‘Wow!’ Charlie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Am I stupid, or what?’ They couldn’t all come to Bloors, could they? Not if they lived in China or Africa.’
‘Or even Scotland, or Ireland,’ said Fidelio.
‘Phew! I just never thought.’ Charlie shook his head in wonderment.
They tucked into their hedgehogs, each one of them thinking about those other academies, other children and other headmasters.
‘I’m going to get into that Hundred Heads’ Dinner somehow,’ said Charlie. ‘There’s a lot I want to find out.’
‘Me too,’ said Billy.
Charlie gulped down his last lump of hedgehog and smiled. The weekend wasn’t going to be so bad, after all. Perhaps his mother had found the vervain, and when he got home Maisie would be her old self again.
The pupils at Bloor’s Academy were left in no doubt that a momentous event was about to take place in their school. By the time Friday arrived, the ceiling of the great hall glittered with a thousand lanterns. Swords, crossbows, scimitars, spears and many other impressive-looking weapons had been retrieved from chests and cupboards. Burnished to an awesome brightness, they hung on the oak-panelled walls, where they drew gasps of terror and admiration. An army of cleaners had polished the flagstones to a slippery shine, and the children were commanded to walk only at the extreme edges.
In the dining-hall, the lighting was more restrained, although it was noticed that several iron braziers had been fixed to the walls. Would they hold flaming torches? And would the important visitors be served by firelight?
Even the friendliest dinner ladies were becoming short-tempered. The extra workload was wearing them out. At all times of day they were to be seen hurrying down corridors with trays of silverware that hadn’t seen the light of day for years.
Porcelain dinner-plates, crystal glasses and golden dishes were unearthed from the cellars and carried up to the kitchens for a sparkling wash.
Fairy lights had been strung along the dark corridor that led from the hall to the canteens and dining-hall, and Charlie noticed that some of the portraits had been decorated with gold ribbon. Not all of them, however. Perhaps only those characters who were directly related to the honoured visitors.
Charlie and Billy sat in the dormitory watching the others pack their bags. Charlie felt strangely elated. He tried to look suitably glum when Bragger Braine and Rupe Small walked to the door, with their bags slung nonchalantly over their shoulders, but he couldn’t prevent a grin from curling one corner of his mouth.
‘What are you smirking at?’ asked Bragger.
‘Rupe’s bag is so heavy he looks as if he’s sinking. How many cans of Sweet Petal have you got in there, Rupe?’
Some of the others giggled and Rupe cried, ‘Shut up!’
‘Have a bad weekend, Charlie Bone,’ said Bragger, swaggering out with Rupe in tow.
Gabriel and Fidelio were the last to leave. They wished Charlie good luck and promised to meet up on Sunday.
‘I’ll bring extra gerbils,’ said Gabriel, giving a final wave.
Not long after the last pupil had left the school, Lucretia Yewbeam looked into the dormitory and told Charlie and Billy they would be having an early supper. ‘I want you both back in here by six o’clock,’ she said. ‘Lights out at seven, and neither of you are to leave this room until breakfast-time.’
‘Lights out at seven!’ Charlie complained. ‘Why?’
‘Why d’you think? It’s a punishment. Now clean yourselves up. Supper’s in the canteen at half-past five.’ With a grim smile the matron swept out.
When the boys went looking for Cook, they found her in the kitchen, in quite a state. Frantic assistants kept moving round her while she rushed from the giant ovens to the cold room and back again, mumbling, ‘A hundred this, a hundred that, turtle soup, pigeon pies, boeuf this and that. No meat for him, no cream for her . . .’ Without looking up, she went on, ‘Hello, boys. It’s only baked beans on toast for you, I’m afraid. Here it comes.’
Cook shared a saucepan of beans between two plates of buttered toast, and put them on a tray with two bowls of custard.
What time does the dinner begin?’ Charlie asked.
‘Half-past seven and I’ll never be ready.’
A cluster of frantic assistants ran up to Cook and she waved the boys away. ‘Sorry, my loves, got to keep going.’
Charlie carried the tray into the canteen and put it on a table furthest from the counter. The noise from the kichen was so loud the boys couldn’t even hear their own thoughts. They wolfed down their suppers and left the canteen as soon as they could.
Back in the dormitory they changed into their pyjamas and crept along to the landing above the hall. Lying flat on their stomachs, they peered between the banisters down into the great hall. It was a place they barely recognised.
Brilliantly illumined by the thousand lanterns, a sea of people moved slowly round the hall. Most of the visitors wore evening dress but there were also men in turbans, some in gold-encrusted
capes and others in rainbow-coloured jackets. There were a few white robes to be seen, and one man was dressed from head to toe in purple silk, with a jewelled scabbard attached to his belt. Women in saris chatted to others in kimonos, and people in bright national costumes leant eagerly forward, trying to understand each other’s language.
Mr Ezekiel, in a black velvet coat and a red skullcap, wheeled himself through the throng, while everlasting sparklers hissed and crackled from the back of his chair, causing some of the guests to leap away, sucking their burnt arms and knuckles.
Waitresses in short black dresses and white caps and aprons threaded their way through the crowd, bearing large dishes of bite-sized snacks, while waiters in red and gold waistcoats carefully balanced trays of bubbling champagne.
At the bottom of the staircase, a harpist in a flowing pink robe ran her fingers across the strings of a giant gold harp. The gentle sound rose and fell at intervals between the buzz of conversation.
Billy put his head close to Charlie’s and whispered, ‘Only the wicked ones stayed here.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Charlie whispered back.
‘The Red King. His good children left their father’s castle forever. Some even left the country. So the people down there, well, maybe the ones from abroad, are descended from the good children.’
It hadn’t occurred to Charlie, but now he watched the faces below more intently. Was it his imagination, or did most of the people in evening dress wear guarded expressions? And surely they looked more grim and determined than the others. The majority of the foreigners looked friendly and relaxed. They smiled more readily and even laughed.
Charlie suddenly remembered to look at his watch. It was five minutes to seven. He nudged Billy’s arm. ‘Matron’ll be in the dorm in five minutes. As soon as she’s gone we’ll nip down to the dining-hall and find somewhere to hide before the meal begins.’
They crawled away from the landing and tore back to the dormitory. A minute after they had leapt into bed, the door opened and Matron looked in. She was quite a sight in her long emerald green evening dress, with green earrings that practically touched her shoulders. Her grey-white hair had been pulled on top of her head and decorated with an enormous green bow. ‘Lights out,’ she said coldly. ‘And in case either of you takes it into his head to go wandering, please remember your next punishment will be far worse than this one.’
‘Yes, Matron,’ Charlie replied meekly. He thought it rather unfair that Billy should be included in his punishment, but decided not to mention it.
The matron turned out the light, but before she closed the door, she said, ‘Don’t tell your aunt how lovely she looks, will you?’
‘No, Aunt,’ said Charlie. ‘I mean –’
She slammed the door.
Charlie listened to her receding footfalls. ‘She won’t be back,’ he said, ‘not looking like that.’
‘I bet she’s out to catch a nice rich headmaster,’ Billy giggled.
They waited another five minutes and then jumped into their slippers, crept along to the back staircase and down to the ground floor. Now they were in the passage that ran past the canteens and down into the underground dining-hall. Keeping to the shadows, they had almost reached the dining-hall when one of the waitresses backed out of the green kitchen. She was pulling a trolley laden with dinner plates.
The boys shrank against the wall but she had seen them. ‘Hello, boys,’ she said, eyeing their pyjamas. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We came down for some water,’ Charlie said quickly. ‘We were so thirsty and we’re not supposed to drink from the taps upstairs, because the pipes are rusty – or something.’
‘Poor lads. Pop in and help yourselves.’ She nodded at the canteen door.
‘Thanks!’ Charlie gave her his best smile. But no way was he going into the green kitchen where Mrs Weedon held sway. She was mean, short-tempered and a terrible cook, and she would probably get her husband to drag the boys back to their dormitory.
The waitress wheeled her trolley past them and up to the blue canteen. ‘Wrong plates,’ she grumbled. ‘What a palaver.’
As soon as her back was turned the boys dashed along to the dining-hall. They were about to slip through the doors when Billy said, ‘Where are we going to hide?’
‘Under a table,’ Charlie said.
‘But – they might see us.’
Charlie didn’t want to think about that. He opened the door a fraction and peeped inside. What a piece of luck. Every table was covered with a huge white cloth that hung almost to the floor.
A waitress was busily arranging the glasses on Dr Bloor’s top table, but the other three tables were already laid. Silver cards, printed with names, sat on red velvet place-mats, and each mat was surrounded by more knives, forks, spoons and glasses than Charlie had time to count.
The fiery braziers gave every shining surface a dangerous orange glow and, even from the door, Charlie could feel waves of heat from the leaping flames.
Choosing a moment when the waitress’s back was turned, Charlie whispered, ‘Let’s go. Now!’
Bending low the boys half-ran, half-crept towards the middle table and slithered under the cloth. A terrible smell hit Charlie’s nostrils and he saw, to his horror, that Blessed had chosen the same hiding place.
It was too late to change tables. A door beside the platform opened and two waiters bustled in with trolleys of hot food.
Under the table, Blessed ran up to Billy, whining softly.
‘Tell him to be quiet,’ whispered Charlie, ‘or he’ll give us away.’
Billy gave several soft grunts, and Blessed lay beside him, thumping his hairless tail.
‘What’s that?’ said one of the waiters.
Billy puffed, almost soundlessly, into Blessed’s ear and the thumping stopped.
‘Probably a rat,’ said the other waiter.
The first one laughed. ‘Hope it nips someone’s ankle. I’m fed up with this job. I’ve been here since six o’clock this morning, and the pay’s rotten.’
‘They’re a mean bunch,’ his companion agreed.
The two waiters made so much noise transferring food from their trolleys on to the tables, Charlie and Billy were able to crawl, undetected, towards the platform. Charlie wanted to be in a good position to hear what was said on the top table.
Two more trolleys were wheeled in and, not long after that, the boys heard a great babble of voices that drew closer and closer until it spilled into the dining-hall. A hundred pairs of feet shuffled, marched, stamped and pattered round the room, as the visitors searched for their places.
Crouched in the dark, Charlie and Billy listened to the chomping, slurping and gulping that was going on above them. Charlie was trapped between two pairs of very long black-trousered legs. He decided to move and backed into Billy who, unfortunately, put his hand on a foot in a silver shoe.
‘Do you mind?’ said a woman’s voice.
‘Pardon?’ said the man opposite her.
‘You kicked me.’
‘You’re mistaken. It was someone else.’
Pushing Blessed before them, the boys crawled away from the silver shoe as fast as they could. Just in time. The tablecloth was lifted and the woman in silver shoes looked under the table. The boys held their breath until, with a grunt of annoyance, the woman let the cloth fall back into place.
The dinner went on and on and on. Blessed fell asleep and Billy started yawning, and then a hush fell over the room as Dr Bloor began to speak.
After he had welcomed his guests, the names of all the academies were read out: Loth, Oranga, Morhan, Derivere, Somphammer, Festyet, Ipakuk, Altabeeta . . . The list continued. Charlie’s eyes began to close, and then, suddenly, he was wide awake. Dr Bloor had uttered the name Lyell Bone, and it was connected to a crime. Charlie sat bolt upright, his head just grazing the top of the table.
‘Those of you who were here ten years ago will remember my grandfather, Ezekiel Bloor, as an
active and agile ninety year old. Today, sadly, he is confined to a wheelchair. Lyell Bone is distantly related to us, and so the crime was doubly shocking.’ Dr Bloor paused and cleared his throat.
‘Please,’ said a voice close to Charlie, ‘can you tell us how this crime was committed?’
‘He knocked me down,’ shouted Ezekiel. ‘Tried to kill me. Pushed me. Head hit stone. Bingo! Couldn’t move. Done for. The SCOUNDREL!’
A gasp rippled round the room.
‘But why?’ asked another voice, a woman this time. ‘Why did he do this terrible thing?’
‘Some of you,’ said Dr Bloor, avoiding the question, ‘will run your establishments in a different way from us. But all of you will be acting in the interests of our wider family. Like you, we draw the Children of the Red King towards us. We offer them scholarships, first-class teaching and equipment. We protect them, nurture them, prepare them for the difficulties they may face when they are adults . . . Occasionally it becomes necessary, for the child’s own good, you understand, to remove it from its parents.’
‘Do you mean that you steal them?’ asked an indignant voice.
‘He said “remove”,’ screeched Ezekiel. ‘Stealing doesn’t come into it. For the greater good we must control these children, and if their parents seem likely to resist, then, yes, we must take them by any means.’
A murmur of agreement ran along the table above him, but Charlie noticed a few sounds of dissent.
‘However,’ Ezekiel continued, ‘in the case of a certain child who could fly, her father, Dr Tolly, was happy to hand her over. It was Lyell Bone who tried to prevent it, by striking me to the ground. His protest was unsuccessful and he was duly punished.’
‘And did the punishment fit the crime?’ someone asked in a gruff voice.
‘Yes, Dr Loth. Thanks to my great-grandson Manfred Bloor. Manfred, stand up!’
The distant scrape of a chair seemed to indicate that Manfred was sitting at the top table. Someone clapped and others joined in. Charlie couldn’t imagine why.
‘Manfred may be the greatest hypnotist who ever lived,’ Ezekiel proudly announced. ‘At only nine years of age, he erased Lyell Bone’s memory with a single glance. The man is now utterly helpless. He doesn’t even know who he is.’
